Sparkling Blue

Chapter Eight. (Just a brief breakfast interlude.)

Over breakfast, Charles saw someone approaching from behind Margaret.

"Don't look now, Margaret, but here comes the ex!" he said.

She only had time to sigh in annoyance. "Oh, God."

Penobscott was standing there, looking down at her. "Margaret, can I talk to you? ALONE?" He glared at Charles.

She sighed again, conceding to the inevitable. She started to stand, and Charles put his hand on hers.

"Margaret, you don't need to, you know," he said, glaring back at the impertinant Lt. Colonel who was interrupting their lovely breakfast.

She stood next to Donald, Charles' hand still holding her own. He took it to his mouth and kissed it sweetly, his eyes never leaving Penobscott's. He was rewarded with that uni-brow frown the Lt. Colonel boasted.

Margaret's ex-husband put his hand on her back and steered her away.

"What the hell do YOU want?" she demanded in a loud whisper.

"What's the idea last night, all I wanted to do was dance with you!"

"Tough! I'm here with CHARLES and he asked me!"

He looked back at Winchester. "What're you doing with the likes of HIM, he's..."

"Before you say it, don't."

"But Margaret, LOOK at him, look at ME!"

Oh gawd, he's so full of himself, she thought angrily. She did look at Charles, and a slow smile spread across her face, remembering the previous two nights and the glorious mornings.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Donald," she said, with that secret smile.

He humphed at her, like saying 'Oh, please!'

She leaned as close as she could to his ear and whispered, "Donald, before I go back to eat my breakfast, know one thing: he is INFINITELY better in bed than YOU ever were! I've screamed like I've never screamed before with him!" And with that she stomped back to her seat, flopping into it in exasperation.

Penobscott followed her, but stopped at Charles' side of the table. He leaned down and said in a rough, low voice, "I don't think you realize who you're dealing with, Major."

Charles said in return, also in a low voice, "It's 'with whom,' Lt. Colonel." He'd be damned if he'd call him "Colonel."

"I'm a Penobscott, and I have connections, Winchester," he said again in that low voice.

Charles almost choked on his orange juice, laughing derisively. "A PENOBSCOTT? Please. Why don't you tell us your family history, Penobscott?"

The other man straightened, confused by the unexpected response. "What do you mean?"

Margaret sensed the change in Charles' demeanour. He'd had enough, and she could tell. She sat back and crossed her arms, looking smugly at Penobscott. Boy, is he gonna get it now, she thought.

Charles' voice started out soft and dangerous, and by the time he was finished with his tirade the sound was ringing through the restaurant, everyone staring at their table. "I'll tell you what I MEAN, Penobscott. I mean your family NAME is ASSUMED, but you probably don't tell anyone that, do you? The Penobscots are a tribe of Indians from MAINE. What, were your ancestors brigands and murderers, smugglers and drug-runners, to have to change their name when they came to the Colonies? And your MOTHER has the AUDACITY to deride Margaret with that nasty comment about your DRIVER being named HOULIHAN! At least 'Howitzer Hal' Houlihan EARNED his rank as Colonel, he didn't have it handed to him like YOU did!"

He paused, pointing to Margaret, who was grinning ear-to-ear as the color in her ex-husband's face got brighter and brighter.

"Here you were married to this beautiful, intelligent and passionate woman who not ONCE cheated on you, who remained faithful to you during your entire brief marriage, and YOU BLEW IT! So don't come sniffing around here like a dog in heat, thinking you can just take her any time you want! She is with ME now! You lose!"

Penobscott stood stock still, his hands balled up into fists and shaking. Margaret knew Donald's temper, and knew he was within seconds of striking out at Charles. She held her breath, waiting to see what Charles would do. She knew her ex-husband could easily win a fist fight with Winchester. She hoped the threat of a court-martial hanging over his head would prevent Donald from starting something more.

Donald took a sharp breath, making a visible effort to calm down. He'd wisely decided against a court-martial for striking a fellow officer. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the restaurant manager and a couple of the waitstaff approaching them.

"Is there a problem, Dr. Winchester?" the man asked politely, glaring at Donald.

Charles reached for his orange juice, his hand calm and steady, his voice level. "No, not at all. We were merely reacquainting ourselves with some past history."

The man looked at the three of them, sensing the tension in the air. "Yes, sir, if you're sure."

"Quite sure, my good man. No problem at all."

"Very well, then, enjoy the rest of your meal, Doctor."

The fact that the man had inquired of Winchester, and not himself, was not lost on Donald. He looked at Charles first, then Margaret, then turned silently on his heel and walked away.

After Donald left, all Margaret could do was gaze at Charles with new admiration for standing up to her obtuse ex-husband.

Oh, he deserves a reward for this, she thought, smiling wickedly at Charles over her coffee cup.

Charles smiled back, asking, "What?"

"You'll see, tonight, Winchester." And she wouldn't tell him anything more.

(Author's Note: Chapter Nine will involve VERY minor bondage play, nothing squicky or anything. At least I don't think it is. Just an advanced warning.)